


Born Again Winchester

by majesticduxk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adult baby, Baby Dean, Daddy Sam, Diapers, F/M, Gen, Hurt Dean, Hurt/Comfort, Infantilism, bottles, non-con infantilism, non-sexual infanilism, spn!AU, time outs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:10:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2026311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesticduxk/pseuds/majesticduxk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Sam cannot tolerate Dean's risky behavior and decides that it is all due to a poor upbringing, so he makes him his baby, so he can raise him all over again. Worst part is, Dean isn't allowed any sexual behavior, he's not even allowed to get hard.</p><p>Note: This is <a href="http://spn-otpkink.livejournal.com/6714.html?thread=542010#t542010">fill</a> for the otpkink meme, where, once it's closed you can't continue to post in the comm. I am posting here so people can continue to read it if they desire.</p><p>tags added as required. </p><p>Some (unfortunately required) notes (these contain SPOILERS for the story, but I am going to assume that you have read them if you read the fic)</p><p>Just to make it clear: There is no sex between Dean and Sam. Although there is some implied Dean/OFC, This is not by it's nature a sexual story. ALSO: Dean's move to being Sam's baby is NON CONSENSUAL. Dean does not agree to be Sam's baby. However a large part of this story is about the care taking.</p><p>so if you made it through that, enjoy.</p><p>THIS STORY IS ON HIATUS.while I am working on it, I am struggling with how to proceed. So it will be finished when I get the inspiration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam stared at Dean, aghast. 

Dean in turn had the grace to look abashed. Blood dripped from his temple, but he hastened to assure Sam he was fine, it was just a flesh wound. Coupled with Dean’s slightly manic, Sam’s worried were not appeased. 

Sam didn’t know how to deal with Dean. 

 

\--

 

“You just needed to drop the match on the coffin, Dean. Care to tell me what happened?”

Dean met Sam’s eyes in the mirror. Although Sam was just standing in the doorway, he somehow managed to fill the whole room. Dean felt his stomach drop at the disapproval and disappointment in his brother’s voice. Breaking eye contact, he gave himself a quick talking to: this was Sam. He looked after Sam, not the other way round. Sam was just being a bitchy little brother. It was fine. This was fine. _He_ was fine. 

Taking a deep breath to centre himself, he looked up, catching Sam’s eye. He gave his trademark easy grin. “It worked out, right, Sammy? Spirit gone and not too much damage. Sorry to worry you, man.”

Sam wasn’t impressed, if the way he loomed further as he crossed his arms over his chest was any indication. If anything, he looked more disappointed. Dean really didn’t want to deal with this right now. He rubbed his head tiredly. It actually did hurt. But if Sam hadn’t noticed, no way was he telling him! During the case, he’d… zoned out? He wasn’t really sure what‘d happened. If Dad had been there, Dean would've been running triple drills as soon as they got home. Can’t afford a single lapse in the field. Fuck! Why was he even thinking about dad? 

“Dean?”

The voice was right in his ear. 

“Son of a…!”

Sam pulled back quickly, as Dean jumped, sending on elbow in his direction. This was exactly what had happened at the grave. 

“Dean, are you…”

He was summarily cut off. “I’m fine, Sam. This room isn’t big enough for two. Get the fuck out. Get some dinner. Pizza and beer sounds good.”

Dean went back to looking at himself and very carefully not at Sam. He felt Sam’s presence for a few more moments, before Sam finally left, closing the door quietly behind him. His breath released in a sigh. Sam was right. His head wasn’t in the game. Not that Sam had said that, but it was obvious what he thought. Dean was nothing but a liability. 

Dean really didn’t know how to deal with himself.

 

\--

 

On the other side of the door, Sam was worried. Something was off with Dean. And while his brother obviously didn’t want to talk about it, he wished he would. It was getting worse. Dean was making mistakes – lots of them. And while Sam was still ok, Dean’s various injuries were really starting to add up. Biting his lip, Sam wondered what to do. Honestly? He was sick of it. Not that would come as a surprise to anyone. He’d love to get out of the business, but only if he could get them both out of the business. He wasn’t leaving without Dean, and there was no way was Dean going without a fit, and possibly a screaming fit. Huffing to himself, Sam grabbed the car keys. He couldn’t remember Dean ever throwing a tantrum. Might be interesting to see. 

 

\--

 

Dean passed out on the floor, was unusual and not at all what Sam wanted to see. 

“Fuck! Dean!” 

Sam dropped the food and drinks on the bed, crashing to his knees beside Dean. 

“Dean? Dean? Can you hear me? I need you to talk to me, Dean!”

As eyelashes started fluttering, Sam let out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. He fell back onto body memory, hands feeling Dean’s head for lumps and bumps, running down his sides, across his body, noting when and where he flinched. 

“Sammy, stop it.”

It was a weak response. One which Sam had no problem ignoring. Instead he ground his teeth and lambasted his brother. 

“I thought you were _fine_ , Dean. Isn’t that what you said? That you were _fine_? Is there some other meaning? One I wasn’t aware of? God!” Having determined Dean was reasonably alright, Sam sat back on his heels. “We only work if you tell the truth, Dean! I have to know when you’re hurt.” His hands were clenched, he could feel his body shaking. What was Dean doing? He opened his mouth to yell, when he stopped. Dean’s eyes looked… blank.

It felt like he had seen this look before. Maybe from when they were kids? To a young Sam, it felt like any time anything good ever happened, John would come back and wreck it all. They had to be quiet, they had to pack up, they had to _move_. Sam, of course, argued about it. He never chose hunting, never wanted it. Sam chose to yell and shout and argue. Dean… Dean would go quiet. He’d get this _look_ in his eye, then obey, not a single word to contradict their father. Sam could never understand why Dean was so agreeable, why he didn’t care. 

But this look... This look said no one was home. Maybe Dean had never been as ok as Sam imagined.

Taking a deep breath, Sam lowered his voice. “I was worried, Dean. You have to tell me when something happens so I can look after you. I have to trust you to do that.”

Dean was looking at Sam again, looking properly, the blank look gone. Now his expression was set to stubborn. “I _am_ fine, Sam.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “People who are _fine_ just pass out, do they?”

Dean snorted, and went to stand up. Sam remained on the floor, watching his brother shakily make his way to his feet, unsteady once he got thereA frown marred his face, although he quickly smoothed it away when Dean turned a questioning glace on him. 

“Pizza’s on the table. Beer is too, but I don’t think you should...”

“I’m a grown man, Sam. Can make my own decisions, thank you.”

Watching the unsteady progress to the table, Sam really doubted it. 

 

\--

 

Since the little ‘passed on the lounge room floor due to unknown reasons’ incident, Sam had been... ‘difficult’ wasn’t quite the right word. He had just been there. Constantly. He had hovered, and mother henned and bossed. It was annoying and it was Dean’s job! (Not that he mother henned his brother. Not at all. Not even once. Ever). Sam'd also been trying to _talk_ to Dean. Sam, who was all girly and in touch with his feelings, who loved talking about them seemed obsessed with Dean talking about his. And more to the point, intent on rehashing the past.

“D’you reckon dad raised us well?”

Sammy’s voice echoed in the dark. Dean had been nearly asleep. He was tired. Sam was being weird and he didn’t want to deal with it. 

“He did the best he could,” Dean grunted, pulling his covers up, hoping that would be enough. 

“Did he ever tell you he loved you, Dean? That he was proud of you?”

This was getting ridiculous. 

Throwing back the covers Dean sat up, ignoring any residual dizziness. “What the fuck do you want, Sam?” he demanded. “Dad wasn’t like that! I can’t go back and get him to say that! But he did love you. And he was proud of you! Just... Fuck.” Dean slammed his body back onto the bed, huffily arranging his pillow. “I’m sorry you didn’t get the fluffy love filled childhood you wanted. A demon killed mom and dad was hell bent on revenge. I get that you didn’t get your happy little family with a white picket fence and a dog. _But I can’t change that_. Even if I wanted to, I can’t.” The pillow was finally in a comfortable position. “Now, shut up and go to sleep.”

\--

Sam did shut up. But he didn’t go to sleep. He couldn’t. Dean had, unsurprisingly, completely misunderstood the question. But the answer… Sam could remember plenty of times dad had told him how proud he was of Sam. He could even remember being wrapped in his father’s arms, held close, while he whispered how much he loved him. And sure, these moments were few and far between, but he had them. 

There’d also been Dean. 

Aside from change, Dean had been the other constant in Sam’s life. It was Dean who held him, hugged him, and told him everything was ok. Dean had fed him, and read to him, taught him to read. Picked him up when he fell down, and been there. Dean had raised him. 

Sam wasn’t the poster child for mental health, he could easily admit that. And as fucked up as his upbringing had been, he had one surrogate parent who'd raised him with love. Sam’s eyes drifted towards the now sleeping Dean. Even in repose Dean looked so tense, brow furrowed, fingers twitching. 

Sam hated it. Sam hated what their life was doing to his brother. It wasn’t like this was anything new, but Dean had been getting… lax wasn’t quite the right word. He still trained, he still gave 100% of what he had. He just wasn’t operating at 100%. And that was dangerous for both of them. 

The question now, was what to do about it.

 

\--

 

After that particular late night conversation, Dean had done his best to avoid Sam. It hadn’t been easy. Avoiding thinking about the past was easier than avoiding Sam. Sam was always _there_ , ready with food, water (and what was that about? Dean didn’t like water, and beer had been surprisingly hard to come by), and a first aid kit, which Dean did require, more often than not. 

While he could kind of appreciate that Sam was worried, Dean was feeling smothered. So he did what no self-respecting adult would do – he’d tried to sneak out. He had it all planned: Sam would go get dinner, Dean’d wait a few minutes (just to make sure the coast was clear), and go. And it Hd worked, although Sam gave him a disappointed look when he returned – either drunk in the early hours of morning, or hung over and stinking of sex in the slightly later hours of the morning. 

Although he never said anything at the time, the long drives were filled with Sam trying to talk about it, calling it self-destructive behaviour. The lack of sleep, the drinking, the women. Was he even practising safe sex? Dean had yelled at him, telling him as long as he didn’t fuck up on hunts, it was none of his fucking business. 

Unfortunately, Dean _was_ fucking up on hunts. He’d had another _incident_ when trying to trap a demon. He just zoned out before he’d finished drawing the devil’s trap... And yeah, yeah, he was lucky Sam was there, and yeah, yeah, there was something going on, something wrong with Dean. It was fucking obvious. Dean figured he just needed more sleep. 

He steeled himself for Sam’s lecture (which he really wasn’t looking forward to. But really? How bad could it be? Dean beat himself up worse than anyone else). But then again he probably deserved everything Sam could throw at him. 

But when the time came, Sam was weird. He hadn’t yelled at all. Just quietly and firmly told Dean he had to take better care of himself, and then dragged him off to the bathroom to look after his injuries. Although Dean had pushed him away, shock and blood loss meant he was no competition for his ridiculously strong and large little brother. Grumbling he’d allowed Sam to clean him up who had then proceeded to treat him like a child: putting him to bed and turning the lights out. 

Dean had been so shocked he hadn’t argued. Just allowed himself to put to bed. Sam tucked him in (and what the fuck was with that?) before getting into his own bed.

“When was the last time someone said they loved you?”

Dean groaned into his pillow. Again? Why were they having this conversation again?

“I told you Sam, Dad wasn’t...”

“Not Dad, Dean,” Sam interrupted. “Anyone. When was the last time _anyone_ said they loved you? That you were important.”

“Angels tell me I’m important all the time. The _Righteous Man_. Michael's condom. So don’t worry, Sam, I'm not suffering from a lack of praise.”

“Dean.”

Suddenly Dean had had enough. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? Trying to get me to say that my life sucks because I had a bad childhood? That I wasn’t raised right? That no one loved me so I’m a complete fuckup?”

He sat up and stared at his brother. “Well, newsflash Sammy: I was raised perfectly well! Don’t blame Dad because I’m a fuck up.” He snorted. “Pretty sure I would have been a fuckup even with a mom to tell me she loved me, Sammy. So can your little psychologist act. The when’s and why’s don’t matter. All that matters is hunting things and saving people. That’s what I do, Sammy. That’s all I do.” Dean’s voice had been getting louder and louder. He seemed to realize, cutting himself off, panting. Sam watched as he slowly retreated into the blank eyed hunter. “If you don’t want it, Sam, if you want out of the family business, I’m not gonna keep you here. Your life is yours. You gotta do what’s right.”

With that Dean turned his back on Sam.

He fully expected Sam to be gone in the morning. 

Whatever. It didn’t matter anymore. 

 

\--

 

Sam stared at his brother’s back. He wasn’t really surprised at the reaction. Dean, despite what he claimed, hadn’t been brought up well. Well-adjusted people didn’t freak out about the ‘L’ word. Well-adjusted people didn't drink themselves into oblivion. Well-adjusted people didn't need sex to feel alive and loved.

However, nobody every claimed that Dean Winchester was a well-adjusted person.

 

\--

 

It was slow in coming, but eventually Sam realized he wanted to change that. He wanted to see Dean go from being an emotionally cut-off, self-destructive martyr, to... to someone who knew how much he was loved and cherished. Someone who was happy, and could smile. Someone who was filled with joy. 

Mary died when Dean was four. Could Dean even remember a time when he was young and happy? Just glad to be?

Sam sighed to himself. They had to quit hunting. Obviously not right away – there was no way Dean could deal with that. But the sooner the better. He would start making slow moves, easing Dean into the change. Moves so slow that Dean wouldn’t worry that Sam was going to leave. So slow that Dean wouldn’t notice what was happening. Maybe they could get a small property somewhere. They could have a library (for Sam) and for Dean… with a start Sam realized he wasn’t actually sure what Dean liked. He had a good idea at what Dean was _good_ at, but had no idea if that was what he actually enjoyed doing.

Turning over to go to sleep, Sam decided he would have to deal with that in the morning.

Except that Dean was avoiding him. 

“Very mature, Dean.” Sam was careful to keep his voice neutral. They’d declared the car neutral ground, and Sam was unwilling to break the uneasy truce they had. 

It had been like this for over two weeks: If they weren’t on the road, Dean was awake and out of the room before him, and in bed after him. They communicated via text, and Sam never knew where Dean was. All he knew was that it wasn’t with Sam and that wasn't ok.

Dean glanced at Sam out of the side of his eyes. He was confused. Surely Sam had seen he was a lost cause. So why was he still here? Why was he trying so goddamn hard? It was… It was _cruel_ dragging it out like this. But eventually Sam would stop pretending Dean was something he wasn't. That would be the day Sam would really leave and not look back. Though Dean's heart clenched, he was well acquainted with wearing a brave face.

“Glad you like it, Sammy. It’s the new me. Get used to having him around.” Or not, he added in his head. 

His facade wasn't as strong as he thought. Sam could see straight through it. Dean had reached his breaking point. He was running on scared, and he couldn’t deal with knowing that Sam was going to leave at any moment. 

Sam’s silence worried him, and Dean’s eyes flickered to Sam again, who was staring out the window. Why? Why was he still here? Dean had offered him the chance to go. And this time there was nothing to stop him. So why would he...?

“Dean!”

Sam’s shout jolted him out of his head. 

“Fuck!” 

He twisted the steering wheel, wrenching the Impala onto the right side of the road. The hoarse _beeeeeeeeeeep_ of the truck's horn faded into the distance. 

For a few moments, the only noise was their twin breaths punctuating the air. Sam pulled himself together first. 

“Pull over.”

Dean immediately went argue. But Sam was having none of it. 

“Keep your eye on the fucking road and find somewhere to pull over.”

Dean had never heard Sam sound that furious. So Dean obeyed.

 

\--

 

Sam hadn’t realized Dean was so close to completely breaking. He’d been making lots of little mistakes while hunting, hurting himself. _And_ irritating Sam. Though Sam had been worried, he’d thought most of it was Dean childishly trying to push Sam away. Now it seemed more than that. 

“When was the last time you slept, Dean?”

Dean jumped in his seat. He wasn't ready for Sam start the interrogation. 

“Last night. I sleep every night, Sammy. Every night.”

He nibbled at his lip, watching as Sam’s lips thinned in frustration.

“You know we have to talk about this.”

Dean turned and may have lost control of his volume. “We don’t need to talk about _anything_. We can do what we do _every_ time. Pretend like nothing’s wrong until you decided to up and leave. Which you will, Sam. And I think I would prefer sooner rather than later.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. “Dean!”

“It’s a fucking liability, man. Not knowing if you are going to be here or not! It's messing with my head. I just… I can’t concentrate, I can’t help worrying. And now, if your head isn’t in the game, then you could get hurt!” He laughed bitterly. "Obviously my head is somewhere else."

“Dean, I’m not…”

“You have to be at 100%, Sam. All the fucking time! There isn’t another choice. And you can't be giving it your all when your eye is on the prize in another game.”

“Dean!”

Sam put all his frustration into that one word. Dean shut up.

 

\--

 

Sam took a deep breath. There was no point getting annoyed: he _knew_ this is what Dean thought. Whether he could disabuse Dean of that notion…

“I’m not leaving you. I don’t know what I did, how you could think - _I’m talking now_.” Sam eyed Dean until he was sure there would be no further interruptions. “I’m not sure why you think I’m leaving, but I’m not. I keep telling you that I’m going to stay with you, because I am. If I was ever going to leave– which I’m not, Dean – I wouldn’t just run out in the night. I’d _tell_ you.” 

Sam ran an agitated hand through his hair. “Since we’re talking about not being 100% _Dean_ , and how unsafe it is to hunt when your minds’ not in the game, would you mind telling why you're still hunting? It isn't me whose been getting hurt recently. I know you have cracked ribs you didn’t tell me about.” 

Dean almost squirmed in his seat at the disapproval in Sam's voice. Sam had a point. A small one, but a point nonetheless. Since when was Sammy the one giving advice? Since when was _Sam_ the one making the fucking calls? 

Suddenly there was a hand in his face. 

“Keys.”

Dean stared. 

“I want the keys, Dean.”

“Sam...”

“I don’t want any arguments. You just almost got us killed! Pretty sure that puts you out of the driving seat.” For good, Sam added in his head. He couldn’t believe how this day had gone. His slow and steady plan wasn’t working. “I’ll find us a hotel, and then you’re sleeping. I’ve got some stuff to organise, but we’re going to have a talk about this, Dean.”

Dean tensed. Talking, talking, all the fucking talking. 

“I don’t wanna.”

“Excuse me?”

Dean threw the keys in Sam’s hand. Sam winced, withdrawing his hand. “I don’t want to fucking talk. All we do is talk! Talk about now! Talk about then! You want to rehash the past, but Sam? The past is fucked, Sam. But nothing we say is going to change that.” Dean wrenched open the door. Sam quickly followed suit. Dean stalked around the car. He was at the passenger door before he said anything. 

“Talking won’t change anything, Sam. This is how I am. Either put up, or ship out. It’s up to you.”

It was a testament to Dean’s mood that he threw himself onto the seat, with little car for the car. Sam frowned. Dean was wrong. There was another option. 

 

\--

 

Of course, Sam had thought he would have more time to organise things. As it was, it still took a couple of weeks.

A couple of weeks in which Dean was Hell. 

He was difficult and rude. An absolute brat. When he wasn’t riling Sam, he was avoiding him. And while he wasn’t messing up hunts on purpose… he was obviously not able to focus, making rookie mistakes and endangering himself. Sam bitterly noted that Dean always managed to protect Sam.

Dean didn’t want to talk. Any attempt at discussion was met with Dean’s back and a slam of the door. A hint of disapproval resulted in Dean leaving and getting so drunk he couldn’t open the door without assistance. 

So Sam got really good at projecting neutral. 

They were in the latest motel room. Dean was sitting on the bed, as Sam carefully his side down, removing blood and guts and dirt, assessing whether Dean needed stitches. 

“Third time this side’s been hit, right?”

Dean just grunted. He was sick to death of Sam. He hadn’t yelled at Dean since the car incident. He hadn’t looked or acted mad. Once he realised that Dean wasn’t going to talk about anything, he’d changed tactics, acting like they were professionals. This was just a job. Which it is, Dean thought viciously. Although not for long. 

He knew Sam was getting out. He’d heard whispered conversations, he’d seen letters, and once (and he felt just a little bit guilty) he’d gone through Sam’s web computer, looking at the browsing history. Originally it had been to see whether Sam had interesting taste in porn (he didn’t). He either had a fetish for real estate, or he really was getting out of the business. 

Despite the fact that he had been expecting it, Dean felt hurt. All Sam’s words about not leaving without telling Dean were nothing but pretty lies. 

Sam worked gently. It had to hurt, but Dean wasn’t even reacting. He was falling deeper and deeper into his own head, and wherever Dean was, it wasn’t healthy. 

“Ok, that’s done, Dean. Stay in tonight. You need the rest. I am pretty sure you have a cracked rib.”

The only response was a grunt. Oh well, fine. This would be a test then. A test to see if Dean was going to behave or not. If he could be trusted to behave.

“I mean it, Dean.” Sam let his voice become firm. Calm but firm. “You haven’t been looking after yourself. You’re tired, run down, and injured. You need to stay in tonight. I’ll go get us some food, but I want you here when I get back.”

Let’s see how much of a big boy Dean really was.

 

\--

 

“Where're you going?”

Dean felt a flush embarrass dust his cheeks. He’d left it too long to leave. It had taken him a while to get dressed, given how sore he was, but he just didn’t want to be here when Sammy returned. He definitely didn’t want to talk about it. So here he was, a grown-ass man, sneaking out. Like a teenager. 

And worse? He got _caught_. Sam was in the doorway, arm blocking Dean's exit.

“Just... uh...”

Annoying, that’s what it was. Annoying. He was an adult, and here he was stammering and stuttering and trying to defend himself against god knows what. And why should he? He’d been looking after himself for a long time. He didn’t need a nosy little brother acting like he cared. 

“Just heading out, Sammy. Don’t wait up.”

Sam looked at him with bleak eyes. Then shrugged, and raised his arm, allowing Dean to pass. Dean glared a little, as the Sasquatch’s body took up most of the room, but there was enough space for him to duck under. Sam would be pissed. He'd been mentioning Dean's drinking and fucking ways a little too often recently. Shooting his brother a nervous glance, Dean continued on his merry way. He probably wasn’t up for fucking tonight. Sam was right; he probably had cracked a rib. But he could still go and get blind drunk.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam watched Dean’s retreating back. He could have stopped him. But now wasn’t the time. He wasn’t happy with Dean’s choices (and wasn’t that an understatement), but he also wasn’t yet in a position to be enforcing the rules. But it was with a sense of relief Sam noted that _that_ would be changing soon. 

Figuring he may as well take advantage of Dean being out for the evening, Sam pulled out his cell, ringing a now well-known number. 

“Missouri? Sam. Dean's out for the night." Sam rolled his eyes, listening to the voice on the other end. 

"Yeah, yeah. I know you know. I was just doing the polite thing! I just...” Sam shrugged uncomfortably. He knew he was doing the right thing. But of course he had reservations. He was making some big changes to their lives. Life changing decisions. 

“I just need to know. That this is the right thing for Dean. Huh? Well. He’s gone out tonight on a bender. After a week of, god, I don’t even know how to explain it. He’s worse, more reckless even, than when he was going to Hell. Yeah. Yeah. No! I do. I do think it is the right thing for him. No. No actually. For us. I think this is the right thing for us. This is something I can do. I got raised by the best. Now it’s his turn. I just… he’s not… Sorry? Yeah. No, I am listening properly. Yeah?” 

Missouri's words caused Sam's stomach to drop. Really? This was Dean’s last chance to make it out alive? “Ok. Well, let’s just say you’ve reassured me I’m doing the right thing. I know. Yes. Yeah, bumping up the schedule, but the house is all organised, and I _told_ Bobby we were getting out of the business. And Cas. I told him too. I had to! It’s not like I could have said nothing. You know if we just disappeared they would have caused trouble finding us.” Sam paused, listening as Missouri gave him ample advice. “Yeah. That makes sense. I do have one last question. Is it… Do you think it’s too young?”

That was the burning question. Sam had already made his decision. But he really wanted some approval. Happily, Missouri gave it.

“That boy never had a childhood, Sam. He’s been caring for you since he was a baby himself.” Sam went to interrupt but she spoke right over him. “He doesn’t regret a minute of it! So don’t you go minimizing that. He loves you, Sam. More than he knows how to say. But he’s damaged – he’s been hurt and used again and again and again. By strangers and people he loves. That sweet boy doesn't know how to trust. I don’t know exactly what happened recently, Sam, but you’re right – he _is_ spiraling out of control, and he doesn’t feel like he has anyone there to catch him.”

There was silence on both ends of the line. 

"You need to be there, Sam. You need to be that person."

Even though Sam had made his decision, he still had to question it. “But is there another way? I mean, Dean’s going to hate it.”

There was a pause on the other end. “Are you going to hate it, Sam?”

Ah, and wasn't that a confronting question. If Sam was honest – and he couldn’t be anything but, not with Missouri on the other end of the phone - Sam wasn’t going to hate. In fact, he _liked_ the idea. And he kinda felt bad about that. 

And more than liking the idea? He wanted this. He _desperately_ wanted this. 

Dean was his everything. Dean had given him _everything_. And now he wanted to give back. His brother had missed out on a childhood: on love, on affection, fuck, even on being raised. And Sam wanted – no, _needed_ \- to give that to him. 

He could hear Missouri smile through the phone. “It’s all going to be ok, Sam. You know you have all our support. You can call me any time of day or night. It’s not easy having a new baby. Talk to you soon, Daddy.”

\--

The last couple of weeks had been a heady combination of alcohol and sex. Dean has always been attractive enough to find a willing participant everywhere he went. 

And he liked sex. It was a great way to be in his body, get out of his head for a bit. And even it wasn’t just clean, wholesome fun, Dean was clear that it was nothing more than a roll in the hay. Honest and upfront, nobody got hurt. 

Last night appeared to have been different.

Dean was pretty sure he’d gotten into a fight. The details were sketchy, but he seemed to have a few extra bruises, and his stomach felt terrible. Glancing across at Sam, he noted the hard line to his mouth, which meant he was very carefully not saying anything. 

“This bed isn’t very comfortable, Sammy.”

Dean didn’t think it was possible, but Sam’s mouth tightened even further. Grumbling to himself, Dean reached across to find a pillow, but felt smooth leather instead.

Oh, that was interesting. They were in the car. 

“Thought you said we’d stay at that motel a few days?”

Sam didn’t take his eyes off the road, not even to roll his eyes or glare at Dean. He must want to. Sam looked incredibly pissed off. Dean chuckled to himself. Since when had Sam become Mr fucking Responsible?

“Yeah, well plans change. I decided now was the best the time.”

There was silence. Dean reached to put the radio on (somehow his tapes had been moved. ‘Confiscated’ seemed like the better word, but that made no sense. It was his car.) Sam reached out, and tapped the back of his hand. 

“No, Dean.”

Dean didn’t bother to hide his eye roll. Sam was being weird. Weirder than usual, at any rate. Why would he want quiet anyway? Dean, even with his pounding headache, wanted the music, needing his brain taken up with sounds so he couldn't fill it with thoughts.

He reached for the radio again. 

“I said 'no', Dean.” Once again, Sam tapped the back of his hand. 

Outraged eyes seemed to bore into him. Sam very carefully kept his face neutral (thank god for all the practice he’d recently had!). 

“What’s the rule in the car?”

“Driver chooses music, shotgun shuts his cake hole,” Dean muttered the words. "But part fucking one of that, is the driver has to choose some goddamn music."

Sam frowned. They’d have to work Dean's language. “Yes. Driver chooses the music. And we’ll have some music soon,” Sam had started collecting appropriate music weeks ago, even before he’d fully committed to his plan. He'd wanted to be prepared, just in case. “But right now we need to talk.”

Dean’s stomach dropped. Sam was leaving him. He’d been so much trouble, Sam was going. Of course, that had been the point of the whole exercise, but now it was finally here. Dean didn’t even notice he’d started hyperventilating. Sam, however, noticed the moment it started. 

“Dean! Dean, listen to me. It’s ok, Dean. It’s ok, baby. Don’t know what’s going through your head, but it’s all going to be ok.”

He knew Dean couldn’t hear right now (was counting on it really), but he worked at keeping his voice calm and soothing. He could make a pretty good guess at what Dean was thinking. He hated seeing Dean like this – so unsure of his place in Sam’s life. Or at least certain he had no place. It was distressing, thinking that his actions caused this, but things were changing. Dean was going to learn how important he was. 

Once he’d found a safe place and pulled over, Sam unbuckled Dean’s seat belt, pulling him straight into his lap. “Breathe with me, Dean. Match my breath. In. Out. In. Out. That’s a good boy. It’s all ok, Dean. It’s all going to be fine. Keep on breathing Dean. Just keep on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. That’s my good boy.”

It was both too long and not long enough until Dean became calm. Of course the minute he realized he was pretty much being held in Sam’s lap, he wrenched himself back to the other side of the car, body slamming into the door. Sam let him, waiting for the gasp of pain as he hit the handle with his bruised ribs. A slight frown marred his face. Dean wasn’t careful enough with himself. 

Although he wanted to fill the space with explanations and little words of love and support, Sam waited Dean out. There was lots he could and should say, but anything important had to come from Dean. 

Five minutes later, Sam marveled that he could have forgotten just how stubborn his brother could be. And how incredibly long five minutes was when you were just waiting. Interestingly enough, that spurred him on to see how ten felt. 

And as he had suspected, it was twice as boring. Being careful to telegraph his movements, Sam returned the key to the ignition. 

“I’m going to keep driving, Dean. We’re not going to have any music on, because you need to think about what you want to say.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue. But Sam shushed him – actually _shushed_ him!

“Shhhh, Dean. You look like you’re just going to argue, and I think we’ve argued more than enough. I am happy to talk to you about whatever you want to talk about, but I don’t want to fight about it. Ok?”

Sam did look at him then, but Dean’s eyes flickered away. Sam hid his smile. Poor baby was confused. Well, Sam could understand that. It was going to be a confusing couple of weeks for both of them. 

\---

While Dean sulked against the car door, Sam ran through his list of preparations. He’d bought the house months ago. Whether he went through with his plan or not, he’d wanted a home base. Somewhere he, or Dean, could always return to. Somewhere that was _theirs_ in a way nothing had ever been before. Of course Sam had been picky. It had to be near town, with easy access to supplies, and internet, but far enough way that nothing would disturb them. A big fenced in backyard, and enough rooms inside for all the important rooms: kitchen, lounge room, study, bedroom and nursery. And a safe room. 

He’d actually been looking for a hunt when he found the perfect place. Wood Springs, Colorado. A beautiful part of the world. Just right for raising a young family. He’d rung Bobby to ask about the town. Bobby of course wanted to know why and Bobby was highly trained in interrogation techniques. It hadn’t been an easy conversation, but it worked out for the best. Bobby’s friends (and Sam had been so relieved to learn it was Garth and Ash, rather than, say, Gordon and Rufus) had come in to help with the renovations and decorating. Ash had even live streamed some of the renovations, so Sam knew exactly how it was progressing. 

And Sam? Sam couldn’t be more thrilled. It was going to be perfect for them. The house was perfect. The rest was also going to be perfect. Hard… but perfect. 

Speaking of the hard part, Sam flicked his eyes to Dean, who was _still_ sulking in the corner. Just like the little baby he was. Sam felt a content smile cross his lips. Dean, of course, noticed it. 

“Why do you look so happy?”

Sam took his time answering. He'd told Dean he was happy to talk about anything, so he needed to stick to that. Sam was going to be a man of his word. Dean would be able to rely on his daddy this time round. He didn’t think Dean was ready to hear about that, about their new home and new life. But he had to start somewhere…

“I bought a house.”

And that pretty much got the reaction he expected.

\----------

For a moment Dean didn’t know what to say. Happily, that problem didn’t last long. 

“I knew! I fucking knew it! When I saw all those real estate websites…”

“What websites,” Sam interrupted. Dean looked away slightly embarrassed, and Sam huffed a sigh. Oh well, it didn’t matter. Dean wouldn’t be having any unsupervised time on the computer for a while. In fact, Dean wouldn’t be having any computer time for a while. It was bad for a baby's development. 

“I knew you were up to something, so I looked. God. So this it's like this, huh?" Dean looked out the window. Here would be as good a place as any. "Where're you dropping me off,” Dean asked bleakly. 

Sam sent him an exasperated but affectionate look. So predictable. “I’m not dropping you anywhere, Dean. The house is for us - the both of us. I’ve always wanted a stable home, you know that. I almost had it, and my years at Stanford were a taste of what it could be like. But you’ve never had a home like that. At least, not that you can remember," he added apologetically. "So I decided that it was time you did. That _we_ did. And we’re going to do it right this time,” Sam spoke earnestly. “I know there’s going to be some adjustment, and I know that giving up hunting is going to be hard...”

“Woahwoahwoahwoahwoah. Hold up there, Sammy. What do you mean _giving up hunting_? I’m not giving up hunting! Hunting’s what I do It’s what I am!”

“Not anymore.” Sam replied firmly. Then, seeing Dean’s expression added, “For now at least, just take a short break. When was the last time you had a holiday?”

Sam already knew the answer. Sam knew pretty much everything there was to know about Dean. At the very least there wasn't anyone who knew him better. He'd still researched those four years they had apart. He also spoke to Castiel about Dean’s time in Hell and Purgatory – although _of course_ he knew those weren’t holidays. But he needed to know what had happened to Dean. Castiel hadn’t wanted to tell him, but had eventually been swayed. 

Sam still wasn’t sure if he was glad he won that argument or not. 

It certainly explained a lot about Dean...

“Yes,” Sam repeated firmly. “A holiday. You’re gonna love the house, Dean! It has a big backyard. Maybe we could have a dog, or garden. Would you like to grow flowers? Vegetables?”

Dean snorted in disgust, but Sam kept talking. “We’ll be out of town, but close enough to easily get anything we need. And our nearest neighbours are about a mile away, but the yard still has a wrought iron fence around it, and the backyard has a huge fence, so you can’t see into at all.”

Despite his best efforts, Sam couldn’t help the satisfaction that entered his voice. This place was safe. Safe from the supernatural and from human prying eyes. 

“Just give it a chance, Dean. I think you’ll like it.”

Dean just ignored him. He ignored Sam so thoroughly, he eventually slipped into a restless sleep. Sam just kept driving. Eventually he’d have to stop for fuel, but he didn’t feel comfortable getting out and leaving the baby in the car. 

Fuck! He couldn’t help laughing at himself. He’d already started thinking Dean as his baby. 

A quick glance confirmed that Dean was still asleep. Sam let the elation he’d been feeling light up his face. It was going to happen, and it was going to work. He knew Dean would have trouble settling in, and that was to be expected. This wouldn’t be happening if he’d had even an ounce of self-preservation. But he didn’t. Reckless behaviour, lack of control, self-worth issues... the list went on and on. 

Well, Dean Winchester was not a lost cause. Adult Dean had no trust. Adult Dean believed he was unworthy of love. Adult Dean was on a path of self-destruction. 

Well that was fine, because once they were in that house; there would be no more adult Dean: Just Sam and his baby, Deanie. 

Sam looked across at his sleeping brother. He was still tense, eyes flickering as the car jolted. No wonder the poor baby was tired. Luckily he had a very determined daddy to help.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the road. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Update. 
> 
> I really am sorry for the long wait. I have been struggling with where to go and how to approach this. 
> 
> And I'm not there. Although I am starting to see the way, so *hopefully* the next update will happen in less than 3 months. But I am not promising. 
> 
> And here's the thing: saying hurry up, or you promised, or things like that don't help. 
> 
> If I am stuck? I am stuck. Supportive, friendly comments help more than demands. 
> 
> I suggest that you get an account and subscribe, so you don't' need to check back. It's a painless process. I personally am subscribed to hundreds of WIPs. 
> 
> Anyway, now that I have said that: many thanks to tsuki_chibi for the chat, and everyone else, I hope you enjoy!

The next part of the drive had been uneventful. Sam let Dean sleep until he woke naturally (and conveniently) near a small town. As he saw his baby’s eyes start to flutter, Sam had pulled into the nearest gas station, before hustling Dean out of the car. Dean headed straight for the bathroom, and happily (for both their peace of minds, had Dean but known it) there was a single toilet inside the main building. Sam would have felt weird following Dean inside had there been outside facilities, but he would have. Dean’s safety was much more important than short term embarrassment. 

His baby was pretty, and he was taking _no_ chances.

As it was, he just lurked until Dean was done, ignoring the cranky look his baby gave him as he ran straight into him. He opened his mouth, ready to complain, but a rather large stomach growl stopped him before he started. Sam chuckled, sending Dean a fond look.

It was enough for Dean to change topics. “You filled up Baby yet?” Dean asked hopefully. “We need to go get food – I’m starving!”

Sam considered. He really wanted to get to their new home (home! They actually had a home now!) as soon as possible. But there were still quite a few hours of steady driving, and a hungry baby was a cranky baby. 

“I’ll go fill up the car, Dean, and you choose some snacks for the road. But not too many. We’ll stop at a diner and grab some food. But we’re still a few hours away so a few snacks will be…” 

Sam’s voice trailed off, and Dean turned to go, but Sam gripped his shoulder. 

“Could you try to get something a little healthy this time, Dean? You really haven’t been eating well. Maybe try something fresh, that hasn’t been processed and dipped in God knows what preservatives?”

Dean scoffed at him. “What are you? My mother? Feel free to eat what you want, Sammy. But there ain’t nothing wrong with good ol’ American gas station food.” He paused to throw Sam a cheeky grin. “It makes diner food seem like Cordon Bleu! Need to stock up on snacks anyway. For next time.”

Sam blinked. What did that mean? Dean didn’t wait for a response, instead turning crisply on his heel and walking away. Straight towards the chips and candy. 

As expected. 

Shaking his head, Sam went to fill up the car. That wasn’t healthy. None of Dean’s food choices were healthy. He’d been at Dean for a long time about his poor eating habits. And his brother generally responded by ordering the most cholesterol laden item he could find. 

However, things were going to change now. Soon Sam would be able to do something about it. And there wouldn’t be a ‘next time’.

He forced his shoulders to relax: stressing out about it now wasn’t going to help. And it was all going to be fine. Dean just didn’t have the right tools to make good choices. He’d grown up on the road, eating diner food and scrounging what he could. He wasn’t raised properly, Sam thought, not for the first time. He wasn’t loved properly. He was forced to parent Sam when he was still a baby himself. 

Sam couldn’t change the past, but he could sure change what Dean did now.

His thoughts just confirmed he’d made the right decision. 

While his mind idled on about Dean, the splutter and click from the gas pump brought him back to the present. Sam made sure the fuel cap was secured firmly, before hurrying back. Hopefully to grab Dean before he bought the store out of junk.

It wasn’t a moment too soon. Inside he found Dean already at the register, arms full of the expected chips and candy. He was in the process of ordering a large coffee when Sam tapped him on the shoulder. Dean’s face lit up with a smile.

“Nice timing! You want coffee too, Sammy?”

Sam shook his head. “We’re heading to a diner, Dean, for something approaching proper food. If you need coffee let’s get it there.”

Shooting him a bitch face, Dean made a big production of cancelling the order (Sam rolled his eyes. The woman hadn’t picked up the paper cup), before paying for the snacks. He went to walk away – intent on leaving Sam to pay for the gas – but there was no way his baby was going to wander around out there. Sam’s hand shot out, gripping Dean’s wrist. Dean shot him a surprised look, but didn’t make to pull away. He’d drop his snacks. Instead he settled for glaring at Sam. 

Sam idly wondered how he was going to work on the attitude. Because daddy wasn’t going to put up with that behaviour. 

Gas paid for, Sam escorted Dean to the car, one hand firmly pressed to the small of Dean’s back. As soon as they were out the door, Dean shook his hand off, but Sam just lengthened his stride, keeping pace with Dean. 

Dean walked to the driver’s door. Although he still looked exhausted, Dean directed his most hopeful look towards Sam. Of course. Sam still had the keys… 

Sam considered. They weren’t going far. And Dean wouldn’t be driving for the foreseeable future. Heaving a sigh, Sam handed the keys over. 

“But only to the nearest restaurant Dean. I still don’t trust you to drive without falling asleep or something.”

Shooting Sam a bitch face, Dean still happily grabbed the keys, practically drooling on the steering wheel. He couldn’t really complain though. Although he wanted to drive – and would have, given the chance – he really couldn’t guarantee that he would stay awake. Maybe after some coffee he’d feel more alert. Be more alert, he corrected himself. He didn’t want to have an accident. He still had to look after Sammy, as long as he was sticking around. 

Still. He wanted the best drive he could get. He’d look for a place as far out of town as Sammy would allow.

He frowned as he caught Sam’s indulgent look. Fucker knew exactly what he was thinking. How did that happen? _When_ did that happen? And what the fuck was up with Sam? This was _not_ normal behaviour. Normally Sam would be bitching Dean out – about God knows what; safety, responsibilities, blah blah blah. Dean was bored just thinking about it. 

And while he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, he was still worried Sam’s lack of disappointed complaining. And even more concerned when Sam didn’t bat an eyelid when they found themselves in the car park of _The Steak Barn_. 

Despite a raised eyebrow, Sam managed to not say anything. The menu dripped with everything meaty. A good portion of deep fried, and Dean had to admit he was impressed when Sam managed to find a salad on the third page, somewhere between bbq ribs, and the 120 ounce steak. 

\--

Dean was sulking. 

He’d been sulking since Sam denied him beer. By cancelling his fucking order! He’d grudgingly _accepted_ that he wouldn’t be driving. He couldn’t argue with Sam’s safety talk. And since he wasn’t driving… why not a beer? It wasn’t fucking unusual. They drank all the time. Sam hadn’t batted an eyelid (although his expression was somewhat grim) as he ordered a double cheeseburger, fries, deep fried ribs, and two slices of pie for dessert. 

“I’ll order another burger if I’m still hungry,” he’d said with a wink at the waitress. She’d smiled back, but it was a tight smile. That would be the powerful influence of Sam’s bitch face, Dean decided. 

\--

Sam watched, decidedly unimpressed, as Dean ordered a heart attack on a plate, all the while flirting with the waitress. 

He’d already decided to let Dean have the last supper of his choice. So he let Dean’s order pass without question. He watched grimly watched as Dean ordered the most deep fried monstrosities on the menu (and he knew it was to spite him. Whether Dean knew or not was another question entirely…) but the moment his baby ordered alcohol, that was it. 

Sam ordered his salad, and then calmly cancelled his drink order. He smiled at the waitress. “Sorry, Dean won’t be having any beer tonight. I’ll let you know when he’s ready to order something else to drink.”

The waitress blinked, but crossed out the order. She was barely out of earshot when Dean managed to raise himself from his shocked stupor. “What. The. Fuck? What the fuck was that, Sam?”

Sam raised an eyebrow. The swearing was _definitely_ going to have to stop, but he responded calmly enough. “You’ve been passing out. You’re exhausted and emotionally unstable. A beer isn’t going to fix that. If anything, it’ll make it worse.”

“But I wanted it.” Dean knew he was whining, but he wasn’t equipped to deal with this. It had been a long fucking day. Day? Try month. Or year. He scrubbed at his face. Dean didn’t know what to make of this calm, weird Sam. The Sam who denied him his life giving booze. 

Winchesters _always_ dealt with life via drink. Something to celebrate? Hit a bar. Need some money? Hustle at pool. And when he and Sammy fought… Fuck. Fights were unavoidable. When you’re living out of someone’s back pocket like that. And it inevitably lead to arguments – loud arguments that generally ended with one of them storming out. Arguments that generally _involved_ both of them staring down the bottom of a bottle. Arguments that were never spoken of again. 

When had the fucking rules changed?

Throwing himself back in his seat, he glowered. It wasn’t just that it was beer. It was… He couldn’t remember anyone _ever_ preventing him from ordering whatever the hell he wanted before. He didn’t know why Sam started now, but he sure as hell didn’t like it. 

He and Sam would be having words.

\--

Sam eyed his baby from under lowered lashes. Over tired and fractious. But so cute. It was subconscious, but Dean’s lip extended in a mighty pout. Sam wanted to reach out and pull at that lip, pulling it until he got a smile. But now wasn’t time. Sighing, he looked over the menu. “Juice or a milkshake.”

Dean looked at him scathingly. “I don’t think…”

“Or water. Actually it would be a good idea to drink water anyway.” Sam gestured to the waitress and Dean felt totally off balance. What the fuck was going on? 

“Milkshake! Caramel!”

Sam, who had been talking to the waitress, stopped and looked at him. Grabbing his hand, he stroked the top of it, before smiling. “Thank you, Dean.” He looked back at the waitress. “And a caramel milkshake, please. Child sized.”

The waitress noted it down, but gave them both a look like they were crazy. Dean didn’t blame her. He had no fucking idea what was going on. 

\--

Despite ordering enough to feed them both, Dean only picked at his food. 

Sam eyed him warily, but he didn’t say anything. Pushing wasn’t going to help anything. And hr really didn’t want to have the conversation here. So it was up to Dean to make the conversational opening. 

And wasn’t that confusing! Sam was acting totally out of character. He didn’t try to talk to Dean about his feelings. It was strange. It was really fucking strange. And taking a holiday! Dean hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about that. The concept was just so… _foreign_ to everything he knew. 

Finally, Dean couldn’t deal with the silence. 

“Aren’t you going to ask what’s wrong?”

Sam looked up. Dean looked equal parts angry and scared. Scared of Sam’s reaction, he realised sadly. He and Dean hadn’t had a healthy relationship in a long time. He couldn’t help laughing to himself. How fucked up that Sam _forcing_ Dean to be his baby was going to be the _healthy_ choice. 

He didn’t want to discuss it. But he needed to answer Dean’s question. That was one of Sam’s rules for himself: when Dean asked something, Sam would answer fully and completely. He wanted Dean to trust Sam, and know he was safe and secure. It was important. 

Dean also needed to learn that Daddy knows best, and ultimately, that Daddy’s word was final. Surprisingly, Sam wasn’t imagining too much trouble. For most of his life Dean had obeyed John. Sam was now slipping into that position. This time though, it would be filled with love and affection. Sam’s heart broke a little, thinking of that little Dean.

Sam eyed Dean’s meal. It had congealed rather unappealingly. Health. That was another thing Sam would focus on. His Deanie was going to be the happiest, healthiest – and cutest - baby ever. 

Right now his Deanie looked rather uncomfortable. He was still waiting on an answer, Sam realised with a start. He asked a question and you’re already fucking up, he berated himself. He grabbed Dean’s water and took a sip. Just calm down, slow down. New dad’s make mistakes all the time. There is nothing wrong with you. 

Clearing his throat, Sam put down the glass of water, and leaned across the table, grabbing one of Dean’s hands. 

Dean looked shocked. 

“Uh. Sammy? Why are you holding my hand?”

Sam figured he’d answer that question first. Remember to be immediate. “Because I know you’re still worried I’ll leave. That I’m mad at you and hiding it. But you’re wrong. It’s the total it’s the total opposite, really. I’m not mad at you. And I’m here for the long haul. I’ll never leave you again, Dean,” Sam finished intensely. 

Looking even more uncomfortable, Dean attempted to regain his hand. Sam simply tightened his grip. Daddy’s rule. Daddy decides when the baby gets his space. 

Sam let the silence run for a few seconds, before giving Dean’s hand a gentle squeeze, and settling back against his seat. “And no. I’m not going to ask what’s wrong. I have a pretty good idea, but I think it’s going to be a long conversation. Which makes it a good conversation to have in the morning. We’ll get to the new place, we’ll get settled in, and we’ll talk about how things are going to change.”

It was probably fortunate the waitress turned up at that point. Dean looked ready to argue, and this just wasn’t the place. 

“Anything else I can get you boys?”

To Sam’s immense satisfaction she looked straight at Sam. Dean frowned, but answered politely enough. “I ordered pie. Can I get coffee with that?”

The waitress tilted he head at Sam. He thought about it. Dean wouldn’t be having coffee for a very long time. “Just a small cup, Dean. You need sleep and the caffeine won’t help.” 

It was true, he reasoned with himself. It wasn’t the main reason, but that didn’t make him it a lie. 

Dean made a face, but he didn’t argue. Sam just smiled serenely. 

\--

Dean has done his usual trick of leaving when Sam paid. That wasn’t going to happen anymore. It wasn’t safe for a little kid to go wandering off alone. At least he hadn’t gone far. 

In fact, he was leaning against the driver side door. Hearing his brother approach, he hauled himself upright, holding out his hands. Sam just looked at, eyebrow raised. 

“Keys, bitch.”

Sam didn’t bother hiding the smirk. “I don’t think so, Dean.” Dean looked ready to argue, so Sam steamrollered over him. “We’ve already discussed this. _And_ you agreed,” he added pointedly. “You almost crashed the car, you still haven’t had enough sleep, you barely touched dinner – which, by the way was pretty much guaranteed to give you indigestion. Plus you don’t know where we’re going.” 

Sam had held out a hand, and though Dean may have glowered, he handed the keys over easily enough. Grabbing Dean’s shoulder, Sam marched him round to the passenger side. “So sit. This is your seat.” Sam paused, eyeing his brother. “Unless you want to sit in the back?”

That snapped Dean, who had been looking somewhat mutinous, out of his stupor. “What the fuck, Sammy? In the back? Kids and angels sit in the back.” 

Sam ignored Dean’s look as he opened the door, shutting it gently after him. Once Sam was buckled in Dean added with an eyebrow wiggle, “Well it’s sometimes adults in the back.”

Chuckling to himself he turned his back on Sam, settling into the corner. 

He didn’t even react when Sam played some light music – designed to help babies sleep without sounding like it was made for babies. Sam couldn’t help the little thrill that shot through his body. Soon he’d have his baby at home, where he could look after him properly. He couldn’t wait!

It wasn’t long until Sam realised why Dean had been so accommodating. Not even fifteen minutes on the road and Dean was asleep, complete with soft little snores. 

Sam was delighted. It gave him time to think. Quietly.

\--

They made excellent time. It was before 11 when Sam pulled into their driveway. As he turned off the engine, he glanced at Dean. A soft smile lit his face. Still sleeping like a baby.

Sam took a deep breath, and then it hit him: they were here. They were _home_. Not only did they have a driveway, they had a whole fucking house! Getting out of the car, Sam leant on the car and just looked at the house, taking it all in. Not that he could see much in the dark. But it was welcoming, and that light in the lounge room window... Fuck. That was a light! Why was there a light on?

Sam dithered by the car– he needed to check this out. He couldn't take Deanie in if there was danger. But at the same time he couldn't leave him in the car by himself. He'd never been in this position before... Before he could come to a decision, his phone beeped before he had to make a decision. 

There was a message from Bobby. 

_Those idjits just told me they left a welcome light on. Damn fools. House is airtight. Take your boy inside. Welcome home. Sam._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now they have reached their home, Dean is going to find out how different life is going to be. 
> 
> this is unbeta'd and rushed so I could get a chapter out. If there are any glaring errors, let me know so I can fix them up!


End file.
